


(Affection Is) What Drives Someone

by skywindsong



Category: Glee
Genre: College Hockey, Coming Out, First Time, M/M, Pining, Redemption, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywindsong/pseuds/skywindsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From kissing Hummel to hockey, Dave has a tendency to live his life on impulse. Usually, this ends in disaster, but just sometimes it all turns out okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Affection Is) What Drives Someone

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally [posted to LJ](http://catbird-tales.livejournal.com/2125.html) on 14/2/2011 with minor changes made since then. At one point, I intended to write a companion piece from Kurt's POV, but that file has been buried in my WIP folder for so long that I've accepted it will never see the light of day.
> 
> **Warnings:** Some emotional abuse, copious amounts of college and hockey talk, spoilers up to 2x10 "A Very Glee Christmas"; This was written long before Blaine's age was retconned so he's a year older than Kurt in this fic; Kurt is also a boarder at Dalton (because laws of physics), and Dave is still a hockey player at McKinley (because awesome)
> 
> Title is taken from the song Shoudou by B'z

 

 

His life might be simpler, Dave thinks, if he didn't live quite so much of it much on impulse.

 

See, it's not that he's the guy who doesn't know how to think. Dave knows the value of thinking and planning ahead. His split-second ability to predict multiple outcomes in hockey is actually the reason that he's such a good defensemen—well, aside from the fact he’s two hundred pounds and kind of freaking huge naturally. It's just that Dave has this problem when he's confronted with stressful situations outside the rink, where his mind has this tendency to completely blank out. Dave's left with nothing but his instinct to go on in these situations, and that just about always leads to disaster.

 

Sometimes, against the odds, everything turns out okay. When Jacob Israel broke the news of Quinn's pregnancy sophomore year, Dave didn't waste a second before buying that 72 oz. grape slushie. Throwing the icy beverage in Hudson's stupid face was the fulfillment of a dozen middle school fantasies and Dave's personal choice of revenge.

 

It was also the thing that ended up elevating Dave from a mostly unknown and friendless puckhead to one of the top jocks in the school. Turned out there were a lot of jocks who had some beef with Hudson, and with Dave as their inspiration they no longer had reservations about showing it. Azimio Adams talked to him for the first time after that stunt, clapped him on the shoulder and promised to take him under his wing. Dave was still just a hockey player, barely a blip on the social radar at McKinley, but with Azimio's help he soon gained the respect of the other football jocks. Together the two of them patrolled the halls and worked hard to maintain the natural order of things, employing both slushies and markers as the situation warranted.

 

So, following his impulses doesn't always turn out badly for Dave. He and Azimio, after all, have been inseparable ever since. The problem is that Dave doesn't really have other resources to fall back on when it _does_.

 

Nowhere is this reality more apparent than in Dave’s current situation with Hummel. Dave can barely even remember how it started at this point. Okay, that’s not true. The beginning, in fact, is absurdly easy to pinpoint; it coincides perfectly with the moment that Dave first realized his gaze was starting to linger on Hummel for reasons other than his wild and crazy ensembles. Somewhere between the time that Hummel dressed like a glittery alien and the day that he returned to McKinley an impossible four inches taller, Dave’s survey of Hummel ceased to be strictly torment-related and started leaning dangerously toward something like _appreciative_ instead.

 

Dave reacts to this wholly unwelcome revelation with all the survival instinct of a former social outcast. Step one: minimize the damage immediately. If Dave isn’t going to stop staring in the near future (which sadly seems to be the case), then he needs to find an excuse for it as soon as possible. Gradually upping the amount of bullying he does in the short-term fits that particular bill to a tee. Step two: stop drawing attention to yourself. Okay, here’s where Dave’s trouble sets back in. While bullying Hummel deflects attention from Dave’s nonstop staring just fine, strangely it does absolutely nothing to quell Dave’s urge to seek Hummel out three or more times a day. It’s gotten to the point where Dave’s doubling back through the hallways just to catch another glimpse of the kid and that is so patently ridiculous Dave can hardly believe people haven’t noticed anything yet.

 

Unfortunately, his attempts to come up with alternate plans have been as fruitless as Coach Tanaka’s former coaching. Making a fool out of himself or committing social suicide seem to be the only options that Dave has at the moment, and framed like that there’s obviously only one choice. Dave therefore consoles himself with the fact that his plan, though stupid, nonetheless is working and does his best to ignore the way that his face burns when he switches directions a second time solely for the purpose of bumping into Hummel again.

 

At least, the plan works until the day that Hummel tears after Dave, following him into the locker room and shouting at him angrily. The force of Hummel's furious accusations in that enclosed space catches Dave off guard and Dave's brain cells shut down almost immediately. His ability to respond shrinks abruptly to whatever responses he can generate on impulse, which unfortunately in Dave's case have a tendency to be both stupid and somewhat juvenile. So when Hummel starts screaming about how Dave can't handle "how extraordinarily ordinary" he is, literally the only response Dave has for him is "I'll show _you_ ordinary!"

 

Which is how he ends up kissing Kurt Hummel rather passionately in the middle of the deserted locker room.

 

If he's honest with himself, Dave doesn't regret following that impulse _at all_ , because kissing Hummel is _awesome_. It’s nothing like kissing Brittany had been, back in freshman year (when she was working through the hockey team.) Brittany had been in complete control of that kiss, sliding her tongue in at the ten-second mark and pursuing Dave’s own aggressively. In contrast, Hummel seems willing to let Dave direct the kiss, standing there with his lips so full and soft and his mouth open just the tiniest fraction in surprise. Of course, Dave realizes about five seconds later, the last part might just have been because Hummel was in shock.

 

The hands that shove Dave’s chest when he goes in for a second kiss and the look of horror on Hummel's face are pretty clear hints, though. Dave considers denying what happened for all of two seconds before realizing it would be pretty much pointless and beating it out of there. He makes a silent resolution as he walks away to avoid being impulsive near Hummel in the future and to maybe cut down on the whole singling him out for extra-bullying/ridiculous-amounts-of-attention thing.

 

In hindsight, Dave wishes he had paid more attention to that resolution. It might have had the power to prevent, well, the entire clusterbomb of events that followed. Unfortunately, Dave forgets the resolution mere seconds after Hummel brings in another ladyboy to McKinley to speak to Dave the next day, violating Dave's formerly firm resolve toward a stubborn denial of events.

 

What happens after that is practically a comedy of errors. Hummel, quietly and sincerely, promises not to tell anyone. In relief, Dave turns around and threatens his life if he ever does. Hummel abruptly becomes impossible to find at McKinley during school hours. Dave, realizing his mistake, spends an entire week tracking Hummel down to apologize only to chicken out and steal his wedding topper instead when the time comes. Next Hummel's friends join the farce when they catch wind of what’s going on and decide to confront Dave as a team in the locker room. Dave tries to explain, fails miserably _again_ , gets into a brawl with Evans, and is ultimately demoted by Beiste to second-string for a week for his trouble.

 

By the time that Mr. Hummel pins an arm to Dave's throat following a hasty limp-wristed gesture sent Hummel's way, Dave is honestly ready to give up on his ability to act rationally around Hummel in any capacity ever again.

 

His parents, naturally, are less than happy when they learn Dave's up for expulsion. It would have something more of an impact, Dave thinks sourly, if that weren’t their default stance toward him already. His father in particular seems grossly disappointed in Dave. It's something of a feat actually. After the new levels he'd achieved for Dave’s slipping grades earlier in the semester, Dave had figured his dad didn’t have higher levels of disapproval left in him. It’s not exactly a comfort now to learn that he was wrong.

 

Sitting in Ms. Sylvester's office with Hummel and his dad, Dave wants nothing more than to shrink into his chair and never crawl out. It's almost a relief when Ms. Sylvester gives up the charade of a trial and declares him expelled–-almost because Dave doesn't actually want to become a Lima loser. He’s seen what happens to the high school dropouts in this town, seen the way that they end up in dead-end jobs at the dry cleaners or the video store, and Dave doesn’t really want any part of that even if it seems vastly more appealing at the moment than facing another day of screwing up around Hummel.

 

Fortunately for Dave’s future in something other than the night shift at the gas station, Dave’s parents make a series of phone calls that night and determine that Ms. Sylvester overstepped her bounds when she made the decision to expel him. They appeal the decision to the school board based on the lack of evidence and the board votes unanimously to reverse the expulsion. Dave returns to McKinley just three days later, well rested from the break and with nothing more than a slap on the wrist for the threat.

 

Hummel doesn't. Dave searches for him the first couple of periods in confusion, but no matter where he looks he’s completely unable to locate that trademark brand of eye-exhausting fashion. It's lunchtime before he hears what happened via the McKinley school grapevine and the unexpected impact of the news is enough to make Dave stop in his tracks.

 

Hummel's been pulled out of school—like, legitimately _transferred_ for his own safety. Apparently, his parents had decided to transfer him the moment they learned Dave was being allowed to return. Hummel cleared out his locker that same day. There are a couple variations on the story at that point, mostly regarding whether Hummel’s being sent to military school (unlikely) or being homeschooled (possible) or attending some other private school down in Westerville (judging by that kid in the freaking blazer, Dave’s money is on this one). All versions of the story, though, agree on the first point: Hummel’s gone, and Dave Karofsky alone is the reason. Judging by the nasty looks all the Glee kids are currently sending his way, Dave suspects this part of the story is very much accurate.

 

He can’t help but feel guilty. Sure, Hummel had been an idiot who didn't know the importance of fitting in and Dave's fascination with him is— _was_ a serious social liability, but it isn’t like Dave ever actually wanted to scare the kid away. Life at McKinley seems duller somehow without Hummel there. There isn’t anyone making catty comments about fashion in the hallway anymore or making the teachers tear out their hair over the third kilt and sweater combo in a week. Even the Glee kids are less fun to torment, all mopey and downcast half the time. Dave is inordinately grateful two weeks later when the end of semester exams are over and winter vacation can finally start.

 

Dave’s feeling of relief lasts a total of about three hours into the first day of break. The thing Dave always fails to remember about winter vacation is that his parents consider it prime family bonding time, which means that spending long hours at home is a must. Normally, Dave doesn’t mind that much. After all, it’s the holidays. His mom bakes him cookies and cajoles him into helping her decorate while his father sits there with his journals and offers to take Dave shopping once they both suddenly realize they still haven’t bought anything. It’s generally very warm and cozy-pleasant, and usually it’s Dave’s favorite time of the year.

 

This year, though, the atmosphere in the house can only be described as strained. Both of Dave’s parents are still upset with him about the whole expulsion thing and Dave can’t exactly blame them. He still hasn’t offered them any explanation for why it happened and his strange reluctance to join in the festivities this year can’t be helping things. Dave thinks that he’s justified, however, when he says the way that his parents are dealing with his lack of holiday spirit is nothing less than maddening. One moment, both of them seem completely determined to pretend the expulsion never happened. The next, they’re probing Dave with carefully casual questions which dig none too subtly for the reason why it did.

 

Dave thinks the questions are his dad's idea, and the silent approach is his mom's. It's pretty typical of them to be split in their decisions. The way they're currently swapping their approaches? Somewhat less so. Also strange is the look that Dave catches his father giving him sometimes, like Dave's some kind of seeing-eye puzzle that can be cracked if only he stares at him long enough. It’s starting to make Dave uncomfortable. Whatever's running through his parent's heads, Dave really doesn't have anything he wants to add to it. He studiously avoids talking in their presence as much as possible for this reason, which makes dinnertime conversation kind of awkward.

 

It doesn't help that Azimio is up visiting relatives in Michigan for the holidays, so Dave doesn't even have the excuse of hanging out with him to get away from the house for a few hours. He starts up conditioning for hockey again just to have a valid reason to leave the house once in a while. It soon becomes an obsession. Whenever his parents' sly questioning or even heavier silence gets to be too much, Dave suits up and heads down to the rink. Slamming puck after puck against a wall or practicing his checking might not actually solve any of his life problems, but at least it keeps Dave from feeling like making them worse.

 

It's honestly just a way to keep his head from exploding, even though the rink is not exactly a place known for its relaxing atmosphere. In fact, Dave admits, the place can be downright grating with the high-pitched sound of all the tiny, squealing brats flailing around in the adjacent rink. Dave grits his teeth to ignore them. Compared to the strained situation in his own house, the environment of the rink is on the level of a freaking day spa, which is the only excuse Dave can give for why he spends an absolute truckload of time down there over break.

 

Eventually hockey season starts back up for real. Opposing teams begin entering the rink and for his part Dave is just grateful to have a fresh target for his frustrations. He doesn't even mind that the majority of teams seem kind of weak for this late in the season. It's high school. Seniors graduate all the time and even the best schools can drop in ranking after losing their major players. Building a team takes time. It's not until Dave prepares to go back to McKinley the night before the new semester that he abruptly realizes two things. One, the hockey season is now well underway and two, ever since winter break the Titans haven't lost a game.

 

More than that, they haven't been tying. They've been _winning_ , and as the season progresses they keep winning. Dave gets his first small inkling of how the team's power level has changed the same night that the Titans decimate their old rival, the Harrison Spartans, in what the local news declares a fiercely competitive game. It's the first victory that McKinley has claimed in the rivalry for over sixteen years, and it's largely thanks to Dave's uncanny new ability to wrest the puck from each of their players.

 

The status of hockey changes overnight at McKinley. Well, that's a bit of an overstatement. Really, it just stops being an excuse for the second-string football players to tackle each other in the off-season, but in all fairness people other than the team's parents actually start showing up at the games too. They bring handmade signs and some of them even lead cheers. Dave likes it best when they chant "FU-RY, FU-RY, FU-RY," though sometimes he wonders whether it's just because it's easier to say than "Karofsky." The hockey players still can't touch the popularity of the school's basketball team, but at least puckhead stops being used as an insult in the hallways with quite as much frequency. Some of the basketball players even take the time to high-five Dave after a particularly good game. It's pretty much the best high school has ever been.

 

None of this prepares Dave for the day that he comes home from practice and his mother hands him the phone with the assistant coach of OSU hockey on the other end.

 

"So I caught your game last night, kid," Dave hears the man say, after he retrieves the phone from where he dropped it on the floor. "And I gotta say, I see a lot of potential in you. You ever consider playing hockey in college?"

 

Dave stutters something that he hopes is a coherent response.

 

"Well, here's the deal for you, Dave," the man continues. "Some of our players right now are on track to graduate next year and we're currently shopping around for some replacement defensemen. I've been watching your games, and I have a feeling you just might work well on our team in a year or two. How are your grades?"

 

"Down a little last quarter," Dave admits.

 

"Below a 2.0?" he asks.

 

"No," Dave replies, wondering if the man thinks he's an idiot.

 

"Then you're still golden as far as eligibility is concerned," he says easily. "Go ahead and bring them up anyway if you want. In the long run, it certainly can't hurt. And see if you can't take your SATs in the next couple months, get some solid scores for us to look at. Do well enough and we might not even need your grades. Otherwise, just keep your slate clean and focus on playing like you did last night. In another year or so, we might be looking at you for part of our freshman line-up. How does that sound?"

 

Dave doesn't know how to respond. "It sounds amazing," he manages at last.

 

The man laughs. "We'll be in touch, Dave," he says warmly, then hangs up. Dave listens to the dial tone for a few stunned seconds before replacing the phone on its stand.

 

The call was a hoax, Dave decides after a couple hours. It had to be. He doesn’t know what the guy on the other end said to convince his mom otherwise, but Dave’s willing to bet his weekly slushie allowance that in reality the “assistant coach” was just Cooper or another one of his loser friends. It makes sense unfortunately. Dave’s pretty sure that some of them are still pissed about being bumped from starting lineup and if Dave’s honest he has to admit it’s not a bad prank, getting Dave to believe that he’s good enough for colleges to be looking at him. That doesn’t make him any less pissed, though, that they involved his mom, so he decides to be a jerk about it and not mention it at school.

 

The prank explanation of events starts to lose some of its power when without any warning next week NCAA educational materials show up in his mailbox. Dave stares at them for a long minute, honestly bewildered, before realizing that Cooper and his friends are still waiting for the payoff to their prank. He scowls furiously and chucks the glossy brochures in the trash.

 

It’s not until three weeks later, when the man calling himself the assistant coach phones the house again, that Dave starts seriously considering the possibility that his offer could be legitimate. At the very least, Dave can’t deny in talking to the man that he’s definitely knowledgeable enough to be a hockey coach. He opens his second phone call by congratulating Dave on the Titan’s most recent victory and casually offers him some subtle tips on how he could improve his footwork. By the time that the man starts talking about summer camp and the possibility of a main campus visit in July, Dave no longer has any doubts that the man is in fact the real deal. Something huge and scary begins to swell in Dave’s chest as the realization slowly dawns on him that this could be a concrete ticket out for him, that he might actually have a chance someday of leaving Lima.

 

He seeks out Azimio the very next day. "I have to lay off on the slushies, man," he blurts out, forgetting to check first to see if anyone is listening.

 

Azimio doesn't even look up. "Man, I've been telling you, there is a difference between muscle and fat."

 

"No, I mean—" Dave scowls. "Shut up. What I'm trying to say is that I can't go around giving the nerds slushie facials anymore."

 

This manages to get Azimio's attention. "And why's that?" he drawls, crossing his arms leisurely across his chest.

 

Dave lowers his voice as he leans in. "I've got some hockey coaches looking at me," he explains, "and they basically told me that if I want on the team I can't have anything else showing up on my record. You know Coach Sylvester's still watching me like a hawk. If I even try to trip a nerd in the cafeteria, she'll be all over me."

 

The Sylvester part unfortunately is true. If Dave had been vaguely terrified of the woman before he forced out her favorite Cheerio, it's nothing compared to the complete paranoia he experiences now under her constant surveillance. Dave has had to keep an eye out for the sudden appearance of a tracksuit whenever he and Azimio have been patrolling for the past month and it’s patently obvious to even the casual observer that Sylvester's just waiting for Dave to slip up. It's starting to put a serious crimp in their ability to put the nerds in their place.

 

Azimio knows it too. "She was pretty pissed when you stole Hummel from her," he agrees. He looks like he's weighing the information for a moment and then nods. "I get it, man. You do what you have to do. I'll do what I can to keep up your rep while you toe the line for Sylvester. But for the record—" He claps a hand on Dave's shoulder. "—you should lay off the slushies, man."

 

"Screw you," Dave says and shoves him off, but when he looks back they're both grinning.

 

True to his word, Azimio doggedly keeps Dave's reputation going over the upcoming weeks through a variety of methods. They continue to patrol the halls together, and even though Dave is never actually involved anymore, after a slushie facial his name is always mentioned. Azimio spreads tales of their misadventures together after school whenever other jocks are in earshot, and Dave does his part to look menacing and chime in when necessary. The end result is that while Sylvester's eyes start to narrow and her lips become steadily more pursed, she doesn't actually acquire anything she can pin on Dave and his reputation as someone not to be messed with is intact.

 

Dave is thankful for Azimio's unflagging support, because in reality the most rebellious activity he's participated in for the past two months is stealing the SAT prep book from the school library. It's a couple years old and some other students have made marks in it, but Dave takes it home with him anyway and tries all the practice tests. He checks his answers in the back when he’s done and finds that he's got a fairly good handle on the math, though his grasp of the English section is a little dicey.

 

He works hard at the same time to bring up his grades in his regular classes too, remembering a phone call where Steve explained that Dave wouldn't need as high test scores if he could raise his GPA some. When his third quarter report card comes home, his parents are pleasantly surprised to read nothing but "good attitude" and "shows improvement" in the column for the comments section. His dad actually looks pleased with Dave for the first time in three months.

 

Dave takes the SAT in March and then waits impatiently for his results until April. When the email that says his test results are posted arrives, Dave logs in the first chance he gets and eagerly checks his scores. They look good: English 590, Math 650, and Writing 580. He ignores the Writing like Steve told him, adds the other two up in his head, and pumps the air with his fist when he realizes he got a 1240. Steve sounds excited too during his next phone call. He tells Dave not to worry about retaking the test and encourages him to focus instead on keeping up with conditioning in the off-season.

 

Surprisingly, the person most enthusiastic about his SAT scores is none other than Dave's dad. "These are very good, David," he says softly when he reads them, something that looks like pride in his face. "You'll have no difficulty getting on the main campus with these scores if you keep your grades up."

 

The most amazing thing about the scores is that they seem to change his dad's mind about Dave's plan to attend college on hockey scholarship. Privately, Dave figures it's probably because at first his dad thought Dave would use hockey as an excuse to take a lighter academic load. His dad’s a psychologist. It took him nine years studying full-time to complete his degree, so it's the kind of thing he would worry about. The results of his SAT, though, seem to convince Dave’s dad that he is serious about being a student as well as an athlete. He starts talking more favorably about Dave attending OSU and even drives down with him over the summer to tour the campus.

 

Dave visits a couple other colleges that summer too. He gets a call from the head coach at Miami University one day and they have a nice long conversation about the potential advantages of private education and staying in state for school. Dave ends up making a day trip down there to see their new ice rink. It's smaller than the venue he saw at OSU, but by no means is it shabby. Dave thinks he might prefer it, actually. The Miami campus is also significantly less intimidating on first sight than OSU, which Dave attributes to the fact it isn't crawling with one hundred times the population of McKinley at any given point in time. The coach promises to keep in touch with Dave over the upcoming season, and Dave leaves campus silently rethinking his earlier certainty with OSU.

 

Even after seeing the enthusiasm on both ends from the coaches at Miami and OSU, it's not until Boston University also sends him a call that Dave sits down and realizes he now has _choices_ about where he goes for college. It's a pretty heady feeling, one that Dave has trouble believing. If someone had told him ten months ago that someday he'd be considering three different colleges to attend on scholarship, Dave would have assumed they were making fun of him and punched them in the face. It makes Dave realize he's never actually considered what he wants out of a college, the possibility always too distant to be worth the subsequent headache.

 

Well, that’s obviously changed now, so Dave starts a tour of the local colleges, visiting each of them just to get a feel for what he likes in a campus. None of them have Division I hockey teams, but Dave learns about the importance of housing and class size and finding the right program to major in. He figures out a couple of things pretty quick. One, any school he picks had better have a wide selection of degrees available, because Dave has no idea what he wants to major in right now. Two, Dave likes the smaller campuses better in general, but the large ones aren't nearly as intimidating once he's toured a couple. Three, Dave had better get that hockey scholarship, because going to college in Lima is just not going to work for him.

 

The last realization strikes him abruptly when he stumbles across an LGBT Alliance group during one of his guided walking tours. Dave would wonder about their guide, but the group is pretty much impossible to miss. Each of them is wearing as many brightly colored articles of clothing as possible and they're holding signs that say things like _NO on NOM_ and _I support MARRIAGE. I want MORE people to MARRY._ They're clearly protesting something, and Dave swallows as he stares dumbly at their faces. They've all painted rainbow streaks on their cheeks, like children at a carnival, and each of them looks defiantly proud to be standing there and clutching their handmade sign.

 

Dave's reminded for the first time in months of Hummel, of that brief period junior year when he spent his days both exhilarated and afraid. He feels a phantom twinge of guilt at the memory, has a hard time acknowledging that somehow in the rush of the past six months he had entirely blocked the incident from his mind. In this moment, Dave is ashamed.

 

Sure, he hasn't been bullying anyone since Hummel left, but that's largely courtesy of Coach Sylvester. Dave has barely made a single stride toward accepting what happened in that locker room. The one step he has made is this: however much he'd like to rewrite history, what went down between the two of them wasn't entirely (or even mostly) on Hummel. It was all just Dave, from beginning to end—Dave's crush and Dave's fear and Dave's stupid inability to deal with it in any rational fashion. Even now, Dave can barely admit to himself that he leaned in first, that maybe it wasn't so much a random impulse as one that he'd been denying for some time. Dave stares at the protesters and wonders suddenly if Hummel's ever participated in something like this, wonders if he found the kind of acceptance in his fancy new private school that he couldn't find in Lima.

 

Dave stares at his ceiling for a long time that night when he gets home before getting up and heading into his bathroom. He flicks the light on and assesses his reflection carefully in the bathroom mirror.

 

"I'm gay," he tries after a long moment.

 

He waits, but his face stares back at him the same as ever, still the same chubby cheeks and stupid curly hair. It's like nothing has even changed. Dave flicks off the light automatically, but as he heads back to his bed he knows that something most definitely has.

 

It's out there now; he's said it, even if it was just in the privacy of his bathroom. Dave knows now he can't go back to denying it all the way, has no intention of even trying. He's still not ready to tell anyone and he certainly doesn't plan to let anyone in Lima find out, but until Dave gets to a space where he's safe to be whoever he wants, he's going to at least be honest within his own mind.

 

* * *

 

Football season starts up again and a few weeks later so does school. Dave's surprised to discover that he's actually more enthusiastic about the latter than the former this year. For whatever reason, football just doesn't hold the excitement that it used to for Dave. It's fun, yeah, and with Beiste coaching the team they're sure to make it to playoffs for senior year, which seriously is going to be awesome. Yet even with those games to look forward to, Dave still feels like he's just killing time out there on the field, like the entire game is something intended to tide Dave over until hockey season starts and he can really tear up the ice.

 

In contrast, his classes seem considerably less lame than they did in previous ones. Part of that is the fact they're all seniors-only classes, which makes the teachers fairly laidback, but Dave finds that he likes the new material they're covering too. Physics in particular strikes him as kind of cool. Whenever they have to calculate a drag coefficient, Dave draws a little figure of Batman off to the side and pretends that he's evaluating a future set of specs for the suit in his head. It's dorky, but Dave doesn't have anyone he has to share notes with in this class. Azimio finished his science credits last year, so this semester he opted to take Creative Writing or some blow-off class like that instead.

 

Azimio might not have asked him for his notes anyway. If Dave's perfectly honest, the two of them have been drifting apart ever since this summer, when Dave had first started on his local college tour. Azimio doesn't plan on going to college. He's either joining his cousin's business or enlisting. So while he gets that Dave still needs solid grades this year for his scholarship, for Azimio his GPA is about keeping eligibility for football and not much else. It makes attempts at conversation kind of awkward, and Dave walks by himself in the halls now more often than not.

 

It's one of those times that he's by himself that he overhears an exchange between former Cheerio Mercedes Jones and that creepy Asian Goth chick. Dave's in the process of getting his textbook out of his locker, more than a little frustrated by the way that he can't seem to find his notebook for government, and the two of them just happen to be chatting together as they walk by.

 

"I just feel like we should be doing something," says Mercedes, her voice flat and unhappy. Dave chances a look at her over his shoulder and notices that she's frowning heavily over the top of her books.

 

Asian Goth chick clutches the strap of her messenger bag in a move that appears to be mostly unconscious. "We're already doing all we can," she replies. "It's not like any of us has the money to transfer to Dalton. Kurt knows that."

 

"Mmm," agrees Mercedes neutrally. Her mouth is a thin line. "All I'm saying is, that boy seems mighty lonely down there at Dalton without Blaine."

 

If Asian Goth chick has a reply to that comment, she doesn't manage it before the two of them pass out of earshot. Dave watches them walk away and has to quash the sudden urge he has to chase after them, demand that they tell him about Hummel and his apparent unhappiness. Dave had figured the kid was happy as a clam in his bully-free paradise. It's the only thing that's kept Dave from feeling guilty all the time these past few months. But if Hummel wasn't happy, if he wanted to come back to McKinley but wasn't because of Dave, then that places the source of his unhappiness squarely back on Dave's shoulders.

 

Dave's in his car and driving down Route 33 before he's even aware of leaving McKinley.

 

Dalton Academy is surprisingly easy to find. Dave figures that even in Westerville there just isn't that much room for full-blown boarding schools with dormitories. He stalls for a moment once he's parked in the visitor's lot and forces himself to take a deep breath before getting out of the car. He notices the fancy "D" emblazoned on the front of building as he does and realizes simultaneously that his letterman jacket will probably make him stick out like a sore thumb. Dave strips it off hastily and tosses it in the back of his car. He takes another deep breath in order to steel himself and then walks over to where he can see some students milling about.

 

They're all wearing uniforms, sharp ties and neatly pressed slacks, which makes Dave feel weird and uncomfortably underdressed around them. It's almost enough to make him lose his nerve, enough to make him want to forget about the nearly two hours he spent driving here and just leave. He’s actually starting to turn around when he suddenly spots a student carrying sheet music across the way.

 

"Hey!" he calls. Half the students in the foyer turn to look at Dave and he flushes. "I meant him," Dave mutters and hurries over to where the kid with the music has fortunately stopped and is waiting.

 

"Hey, uh, you know Hummel?" he asks when he gets there. "Kurt Hummel," Dave clarifies, just in case there's more than one Hummel at Dalton.

 

"Yeah, he's on the Council," says the kid, looking at Dave a little confused.

 

Dave fumbles to come up with a follow-up response. Somehow, even with the two-hour drive over, he hadn't managed to think this idea all the way through. Does he want to talk to Hummel? Given Dave's track record, it's probably not the best idea. Face-to-face meetings with Hummel, after all, do generally end in disaster on both their ends. Dave just needs Hummel to know that he can return to McKinley if he wants to, that he doesn't have to worry about Dave bullying him anymore. An idea occurs to him. "Could you give him a message for me?" Dave blurts out.

 

The kid nods slowly.

 

Dave pulls a gas station receipt out of his pocket and borrows a pen from a nearby table. He hesitates for a moment over what to write, then figures that simple is best and just puts "I'm sorry" in the middle of the paper. On impulse, he adds his cell phone number at the bottom.

 

"Tell him," Dave says as he folds the receipt in half, "that Dave said if—if he wants to come back, he doesn't have to be scared." He holds out the note and the kid takes it with his free fingers. Dave shoves his hands in his pockets. "You got that?" he asks gruffly, suddenly embarrassed.

 

"Yeah," the kid drawls, now looking at Dave like he thinks Dave's mentally deficient.

 

"Okay," Dave exhales. "Thanks."

 

He carefully doesn't think about the note the whole drive home, focusing instead on whether or not he may have been declared truant for skipping his last two classes today. Ms. Johnson is generally pretty lax about attendance and Dave has study hall final period, but he also managed to miss football practice on this little adventure and that's something Dave _knows_ he will be called on. He gets back to Lima early and kills some time in a park until it's potentially late enough for practice to have let out. Dave then heads home, making sure to arrive just after his dad, and drops off his books upstairs like it's any other day.

 

Dave fidgets all through dinner, completely unable to concentrate on the flow of normal conversation because he's straining his ears to catch the possible noise of a phone ringing upstairs. His agitation doesn't escape notice.

 

"Sweetie, are you all right?" his mom asks finally, after the fifth time he's responded to one of her questions with a quick "fine."

 

"Yeah, Mom, I'm—" Dave cuts himself off before he can say "fine" again. "I just have a lot of homework tonight," he tries instead.

 

His mother's face softens. "Go ahead and start working on it if it's bothering you that much. I'll bring you up a plate later if you're hungry."

 

Dave almost trips over his feet in his haste to leave the table. "Thanks, Mom," he murmurs before dashing ungainly up the stairs.

 

Of course, being within three feet of his phone doesn't magically make Hummel call, so Dave ends up working on his homework for real. He hazards a guess at the reading Ms. Johnson might have assigned and works through the problems he has left over from physics that morning. It's eleven o'clock and his mother has taken away the plate she brought up before Dave finally admits that Hummel probably isn't going to call tonight, if ever. He forces himself to shut off his phone and shoves it in his sock drawer so he won't be tempted to check it in the middle of the night.

 

* * *

 

School the next day is the same as ever. Coach Beiste corners him before third period to ream him out for missing practice, but seems mollified when Dave hastily concocts a vivid tale of virulent (though short-lived) stomach flu. Dave gets the assignment for government from another one of the guys on the team and doesn't even rate an raised eyebrow from Ms. Johnson when he turns it in with the rest of the class. Football practice that afternoon is demanding but no more than usual and Dave lets the sting of hot water ease away the ache in his muscles afterwards.

 

It's not until Dave checks his phone while he's changing back into his regular clothes that he gets his first surprise of the day. _Missed calls: 1_

 

Dave just stares at his phone, dumbfounded. No way. No way that out of all the possible times Hummel could have called, he had gone and picked the _one_ time Dave wouldn't be able to answer him. That just wasn't _fair_.

 

It was also probably deliberate, Dave realizes suddenly, as he catches sight of Hudson pulling on fresh socks further down on the bench. Of course Hummel would be able to find out what times the football team practiced. His freaking stepbrother was on the team. Which meant, since he hadn't left Dave a voicemail, that Hummel had most likely called simply to verify Dave's identity.

 

Dave wastes a few seconds panicking over whether he still has that embarrassing gangsta rap he did with Azimio as his voicemail message before he remembers that he changed it to something more professional when he started giving out his number out to colleges.

 

Dave forces himself to refocus. Okay, so apparently Hummel had got his message and now he should know that it was safe for him to come back. Dave's work here is done. He debates furiously with himself about whether or not he should delete the number in his call history as a courtesy before ultimately breaking down and saving it as "Fancy."

 

Of course, as with all things Hummel, Dave should have known better than to expect things would just end there. When Dave arrives at his locker the next morning, none other than Mercedes Jones is there waiting for him.

 

She gives him a quick once-over with heavy-lidded eyes, looking unimpressed. "What's your game, Karofsky?" she asks bluntly.

 

Dave pushes past her and starts spinning the dial on his lock. "I don't know what you're talking about."

 

"I'm talking about you making a trip to see my boy Kurt down at Dalton," she says. She raises her eyebrows. "You wanna tell me what that's about?"

 

Dave ignores her as he shoves books in. "Just thought I'd let him know he could come back if he wants," he offers lightly, refusing to look her in the face.

 

"Excuse me for having a hard time understanding why you'd care," Mercedes snaps. "You're the reason he left in the first place. You expect us to believe you and your friends all suddenly found Jesus or something?" she sasses, getting all up in his space.

 

Dave slams his locker door shut. Mercedes, to her credit, doesn't flinch. "Look," he says carefully, counting backwards from ten in his head, "I've got hockey coaches looking at me for scholarships. I'm not going to risk that by screwing around with you nerds. So if Hummel wants to come back, he's safe."

 

Mercedes doesn't budge. "That still doesn't answer the question of why you care," she says pointedly.

 

Dave gives up. "Maybe it'll get Coach Sylvester off my back," he tosses out randomly and clumsily makes his escape.

 

Mercedes doesn't seek him out again, but over the next couple weeks Dave catches her sending a number of appraising looks his way. Dave ignores them, goes back to pretending that Glee club doesn't exist and that football is totally as exciting as hockey this year. Dave tried, okay? He made the effort to apologize, and it’s not his fault if none of the other people involved were even remotely willing to believe him. As far as Dave is concerned, his conscience is clear. He actually manages to forget about the conversation entirely by the time the second week of November rolls around.

 

Which is why the first glimpse of tailored blue cashmere takes him completely by surprise.

 

Kurt Hummel walks back into McKinley wearing knee-high battle boots and flanked by what must be no less than half the members of Glee club. His face is tight and determined and his friends survey the hallway like they're daring anyone to try making a comment on his return. Dave, for his part, can only stop and stare.

 

He got taller, Dave thinks inanely as he takes in the strangely familiar sight of Hummel's signature flagrance. He's paired a knee length sweater with plaid pants today for his reintroduction, along with an elaborate brooch that takes up half of his chest. The outfit shouldn't make any sense. In fact, it doesn’t, and it literally makes Dave's eyes tired just looking at it. Yet at the same time it's proud and fierce and so intrinsically, _impossibly_ Hummel that Dave can’t help but break into a tiny grin at the sight.

 

One of Hummel’s friends is making a joke and Hummel is laughing when his eyes finally land on Dave, catching sight of where he’s stopped by the lockers. Hummel's laughter cuts off quickly—though not enough so that his friends notice—and he surveys Dave with an openly wary expression.

 

It's enough to startle Dave out of his sudden high fashion coma. He meets Hummel's gaze levelly and gives him a solemn jerk of his head. _Hey. We’re cool now,_ he tries to communicate.

 

Hummel just stares evenly back. _We’ll see_ , his face reads.

 

True to his word, Dave stays away from Hummel at McKinley, doesn't seek him out or bother him in any way. He even keeps a few of the younger jocks from planning anything too nasty, though honestly most of them are too nervous to try anything with a senior anyway. Hummel loses his constant edge of wariness about a month in, and when he passes Dave in the halls now his expression is at least neutral if still not exactly friendly.

 

Dave doesn't have the brain cells to waste over-analyzing the situation because hockey season has started up again. Every spare minute Dave's not on the ice he spends going over his playbook or catching up frantically on homework. The different college coaches start calling him weekly again, and Dave listens closely to the advice they offer him on tightening his game. None of them come out and say that they're recruiting him for scholarship, but they all make it pretty clear that Dave's on their shortlist.

 

His parents are thrilled by the extra attention he’s receiving and start making a point of coming to his games. His mom leads the other parents in cheers and even his dad shouts when the referee makes an obviously biased call. It's kind of nice having them there, actually, and Dave definitely doesn't mind when they take him out for pizza afterwards. The way they gush over his game, though inexpert in the extreme, makes him feel proud to be their son even if he's pretty sure he's not what either of them expected.

 

Dave flies out to see Boston University in February. He applied to the school back in November after they offered him an official visit, but this is the first time he's actually toured the campus. It's nothing like any other college he's visited. For one, it's most definitely an urban campus. Technically, OSU had been one too, but even there Dave had seen the usual clusters of students hanging out on the massive green commons that made up the OSU Oval. Here at BU, there's almost no distinction between the campus proper and the entire city of Boston. In fact, they're seamlessly situated together, which fascinates and overwhelms Dave all at once.

 

He keeps an open mind, tours Agganis Arena and is properly impressed by its size and design. He actually manages to catch a far-off glimpse of Coach Parker while he's there and has to resist the urge to ask for an autograph. Overall, though, the visit leaves Dave feeling mostly ambivalent about attending the school. It's not until he steps off the campus that Dave sees something to make him rethink his initial impression.

 

Two men are walking down the street, and from the way they're holding hands it's pretty obvious that they're together. They have a little girl in overalls with them. She can't be more than four or five and she seems unable to stop chattering about the animals she plans to see at the aquarium. Dave watches one of them lean down to listen to her as she gives them a very serious explanation of which animals they have to see first and realizes "Those three are a family." He catches sight of the matching rings on the two men's hands and realizes further "Those men are _married_."

 

A small, quiet place in the back of Dave’s mind shoves abruptly to the front. Idly, Dave's been making plans to come out in college for the past six months. He doesn’t intend to stay in the closet forever and college just seems like a safer place to be out and proud than Lima. Somehow, though, it had never once occurred to Dave that he could also have the choice to attend school in a state where _same-sex marriage was legal_. No one would look at Dave weird if he decided to come out here. Hell, they'd probably laugh and point him to the nearest gay bar. Dave looks at the busy city of Boston with a whole new light and folds the university brochure carefully in his bag for the flight home.

 

* * *

 

His parents react to his newfound enthusiasm for going to school out of state with vague confusion but unquestioning support. Dave doesn't tell anyone at school about his plans, just starts carrying around BU promotional material in addition to his other stuff for Miami and OSU. Everyone knows he's considering Boston inside of a week anyway, thanks to the veritable information osmosis that is McKinley's gossip chain.

 

The best part about having an extremely active gossip machine, including one particularly overzealous "celebrity" blog, is that Dave in turn gets to hear about the programs and colleges that other kids are considering too. It's how he finds out that Berry and Hummel are seeking acceptance at musical theatre schools, and that Berry's dad apparently drove them both up together for some multiple audition shindig in Chicago. Berry's being obnoxiously vocal (as per usual) about her burning desire to attend school in New York, but Hummel seems to be favoring a couple other locations more. Most notably, his number one choice, if Israel’s blog can be believed, appears to be none other than Boston Conservatory.

 

Dave's heart stutters a little when he hears.

 

Okay, so maybe Dave's slightly less over Kurt Hummel than he'd like to admit. The situation is totally not Dave's fault. Hummel's the kind of guy who's just impossible to forget, the kind who manages to draw attention to himself simply by virtue of existing. Whenever he struts down the halls Dave's eyes can't help but rivet on him every time, and he's been walking with a new confidence lately that is nothing less than captivating. Dave doesn't know if it comes from Dalton or doing theater auditions or just the fact that he's a senior, but privately Dave thinks that it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

 

If Hummel's looking at Boston, then maybe he and Dave have a chance of someday breaking the holding pattern they're in. Dave's not saying Hummel's going to turn around and want Dave for his boyfriend. He's not actually delusional, thanks. But maybe they could, you know, be friends and book flights out together or something. It would be a start.

 

Dave tries slowly being friendlier to Hummel—nothing big, just nods when he passes him in the halls and the occasional quick comment on one of his outfits. At first Hummel reacts like he thinks Dave has brain damage, gaping after him in a way Dave wishes he didn't still find stupidly attractive. Gradually, though, Hummel's look morphs from slightly pained confusion to a sort of longsuffering patience tinged with amusement. It's the same look that he wears around everyone who doesn't wear designer labels or pull their looks off the runway. It goes beyond neutral—verges on friendly even—and Dave is inexplicably heartened by the sight of it.

 

If the look reminds Dave just a little of the one that Hummel wore during the week between the kiss and the death threat, during that short time when he'd seemed both open and sympathetic to Dave, well, that's no one's business but his own.

 

The last Friday in March dawns bright and clear. The whole school is abuzz with energy when Dave walks in, though it takes him a couple of periods to find out the reason: Hummel received confirmation from Boston Conservatory today. He's been accepted. A carefully hidden sense of excitement swells wordlessly in Dave's chest.

 

He bides his time and waits until after school to seek Hummel out. Dave wants to congratulate him on this in private, and with the way that Hummel's Glee friends keep popping up out of nowhere to tackle him in their mutual excitement it just seems like waiting is Dave’s best option.

 

He makes sure to keep things casual as he approaches, nothing in his step to suggest that Dave is as nervous as hell about this going well. "Yo, Hummel," he calls.

 

Hummel turns. "Karofsky," he says, voice even. It's not exactly welcoming, but it's not hostile either—more like Hummel is merely waiting to see what Dave wants.

 

Dave barrels on hurriedly. "Congratulations on being accepted to the Conservatory," he blurts out. "Boston or bust, right?" He lifts his hand for a fist bump before he realizes that Hummel probably doesn't do that and drops it quickly.

 

Hummel, as it so happens, isn't even looking at Dave. "Yeah," he returns quietly, gaze fixed suddenly on the inner contents of his locker. "Right."

 

Something niggles in the back of Dave’s mind at Hummel’s lackluster response. He realizes abruptly that Hummel doesn't seem nearly as excited about Boston now here with Dave as he has virtually all day around his friends. In fact, if Dave were to pick a word for it, he'd label the look that Hummel’s currently sporting as dejected. "That's great," Dave continues desperately after a long moment, because he doesn’t know what else to say in light of Hummel’s apathy. He decides to feel out Hummel's inclination toward possible future interaction instead. "I mean, I got accepted out in Boston too, so maybe we'll be flight buddies some time, huh?" Dave offers gamely.

 

Hummel doesn't say anything in response, but something in his expression changes to suggest he somehow just swallowed a lemon.

 

Dave tries to make a joke out of it. "Come on, Hummel," he says, even as his heart sinks. "Don't lie. You know you still want a piece of the Fury."

 

Hummel stiffens and it occurs belatedly to Dave that that probably wasn't the best kind of joke to make given their history. He's about to apologize and make his excuses to leave when Hummel's eyes snap to his. He gives Dave a long slow look up and down, his gaze lingering noticeably on Dave's hands. "I could go for a taste of the Fury now," he says idly. His eyes flicker back to Dave's. "If you're interested."

 

Dave's mind screeches to a halt.  
  
"What?" he manages finally, because this is Hummel and this is Dave and the two of them are barely not enemies at this point and Hummel can't possibly be offering him—

 

"Sex, Karofsky," Hummel states bluntly, clearing up any remaining doubts. He steps in closer to Dave. "I know that you still watch me," he says softly. "Don't deny I'm something you want."

 

Dave swallows. "No, I mean— yeah," he breathes.

 

The ends of Kurt's lips curve up briefly. "Finn and Rachel might be at my house," he says briskly, all business. "What time do your parents get home?"

 

"Not until late," says Dave dazedly. "My dad's practice is hosting a dinner tonight."

 

Hummel nods. "I don't know where your house is so I'll follow you in my car. Meet me outside in ten minutes." He pulls out his phone and heads off with the obvious intention of making some calls.

 

Dave, on the other hand, stays rooted dumbly where he's standing, mind whirling with the realization that he basically just propositioned Hummel and Hummel had—no two ways about it— _accepted_. The world seems tilted on its axis, all previous knowledge Dave once had now declared null. He almost wants to call a timeout to stop and think, try to make the world make sense again, but he's afraid that if he does this will all turn out to have just been one of his calculus fantasies. Dave hates the thought that he might actually be that pathetic.

 

Hummel meets him in the parking lot and the heat of his gaze makes Dave fumble putting the keys into his car. Dave doesn't live far, only a couple miles, so it's less than fifteen minutes later that they're parking in his driveway and walking up to his door.

 

Dave's palms are sweating, but he grabs Hummel's hand anyway as he wrestles with the lock. Hummel doesn't resist, just lets Dave lead him into the house without a single scathing comment or squawk of indignation. It’s so out of character for Hummel that Dave sneaks a look at his face as they climb the stairs—tries to get a feel for what's going on in his head—but Hummel's face is blank and gives away nothing. Dave has no idea what made Hummel accept his accidental proposition (unbelievable as it still sounds), but he's pretty sure it wasn't due to a sudden revelation of mutual admiration.

 

In fact, Dave suspects heavily he should stop this here and send Hummel home, maybe run some laps to cool off, but he can't. He can't because he's been dreaming about this opportunity ever since Hummel first came back to McKinley and now that it's happening Dave can't pass it up.

 

The uneasy feeling in his stomach just won’t quit, though, so Dave pushes Hummel up against the door of his room the moment it closes and kisses him before he can lose his nerve. Dave's a little more forceful than he intends to be with the push and Hummel lets out a quiet "oof" of surprise as his back hits the door. Dave barely manages to dart out a hand to cradle the back of Hummel’s head in time, but Hummel doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s too busy responding enthusiastically to the kiss, grabbing Dave's jacket and pulling him in closer. Dave ends up putting his hands on Hummel's face just to slow him down.

 

After all, Dave's had over a year to think of what he would do if he ever got a second chance with Kurt Hummel. There's no way he's wasting this opportunity.

 

He slides fingers greedily through Hummel's hair, repositioning them both to kiss better. Hummel resists the change with an impatient noise but obligingly adjusts to the new position. His lips are firm and insistent against Dave's and Dave tries teasing each of them individually to get them to relax. It works like magic. Hummel's mouth falls open a little as the tension leaves, his bottom lip jutting out at the perfect angle for Dave to suck on gently. He lavishes it with careful attention, rolling his tongue over the seam and tugging lightly before reluctantly letting go in favor of swiping his tongue deeper into Hummel's mouth.

 

Hummel's tongue meets his own almost immediately and Dave groans at the sudden new influx of sensation. His hands drop to wrap around Hummel's waist and Hummel's own hands slide reflexively up Dave’s chest to compensate. Dave pulls their hips then so that they're flush against one another, licking into Hummel's mouth and tangling their tongues together languidly. Dave feels like he could be content just to stand here and kiss forever, but Hummel's hands have a different agenda in mind. They start working aggressively to slide Dave's letterman jacket off his shoulders, forcing Dave to relinquish his treasured grip on Hummel’s hips in order to fully shrug it off. The jacket hits the floor with a soft thump and Dave starts fumbling automatically with the buttons on Hummel's shirt, withdrawing from Hummel's mouth in order to nuzzle and press kisses lightly along his jaw line.

 

Hummel's breathing a little heavier now, his pulse rapid underneath Dave's lips as Dave gently unwraps his scarf to suck kisses down the gradually exposed line of Hummel’s throat. He’s rewarded with a gasped “Karofsky” from Hummel whenever he hits what seems to be a particularly sensitive spot, and Dave moves to breathe in his ear.

 

"Call me Dave," he ghosts across the shell, because he thinks in this space it should be okay. Hummel shivers and Dave gives into his impulse to nibble lightly on the outer edge.

 

"Dave," Hummel manages after another moment. "Dave, I don't think—"

 

Dave pulls back abruptly at the strange tenor in Hummel’s voice, leaving Hummel to slide with a muffled thump against the door. Hummel looks utterly wrecked as he tips his head back toward the ceiling, his half-open shirt exposing the pale column of his throat and his mouth kissed red and shiny with spit. He’s the most beautiful thing that Dave’s ever seen and the idea of stopping, maybe even pretending that nothing ever happened or laughing it off makes something deep in Dave's chest ache. None of that changes the fact that Hummel might have just said no.

 

"Change your mind again, Hummel?" Dave asks gruffly, feeling oddly naked even though as a matter of technicality Hummel is the one wearing less clothing right now.

 

Hummel raises an amused eyebrow at him. "I think after that at least you can call me Kurt," he says dryly.

 

Dave bites back the urge to say something equally cutting in reply. "Kurt," he grits, and tries hard not to think about how this is only the second time ever that he's used Hummel's first name. "You want to leave?" he repeats.

 

"I want to stay," Hummel— _Kurt_ replies, shifting uncomfortably. His eyes flicker briefly to Dave's chest. "But—"

 

Dave cuts him off. "If you want to stay, then we do this my way," he says firmly, because he really doesn’t want to know how that sentence ends.

 

Kurt looks discomfited but exhales slowly and nods. "I'll stay," he promises.

 

"You sure?" Dave asks again—just to be clear—but his traitorous hands are already stretching out toward Kurt.

 

"I'm sure," Kurt says, stepping forward to meet Dave in a surprisingly soft kiss.

 

The dynamic between them is different now, somehow gentler than before. Dave works lazily to unbutton the bottom half of Kurt's shirt as they continue to kiss, sliding it reverently off him once he finishes. Dave tosses the shirt after a moment's thought in the direction of his desk chair (when it occurs to him that Kurt's clothes could probably pay for half of Dave's entire wardrobe) and awkwardly guides Kurt backward to lie on his bed.

 

Kurt props himself up to watch with heavy-lidded eyes as Dave pulls off his own shirt and then pulls Dave down for a kiss that leaves Dave hovering over Kurt with his arms bracketing Kurt’s head. They're both still wearing their pants, which is a situation that Dave thinks will need to be remedied shortly, but for now Dave has the entire expanse of Kurt's chest to explore. He leans back on his haunches carefully, mindful of the not insignificant difference in their weight. The position provides the perfect angle for Dave to catalogue the tiny expressions that flicker across Kurt’s face as Dave experimentally rubs a thumb along his collarbone or ghosts a hand down Kurt’s ribs, little hitches in Kurt’s breathing letting Dave know when he’s done something right. Dave thinks he could spend hours just like this, wants to map out Kurt’s entire torso until Kurt had no secrets remaining. It’d be shortsighted just to use his hands for such a purpose, however, so Dave next indulges his craving to taste Kurt’s skin.

 

It’s not that different from what he was imagining—salt and sweat mostly—but Kurt shivers a little when Dave’s mouth strays too near his nipple and Dave can't help the way he automatically draws it in. Kurt moans as Dave swirls his tongue gently around his nipple and Dave feels a sudden flush of pride in his ability to draw this kind of response from Kurt. He gives Kurt’s other nipple the same attention, waits for the soft sound of Kurt's barely audible keening before ultimately continuing on his downward path.

 

He presses a small kiss to Kurt's navel as he fumbles with his zipper. "You really are beautiful, you know," he murmurs softly against Kurt's skin, surprising himself and Kurt both.

 

"Dave," Kurt starts hesitantly, sounding uncertain.

 

Dave hurries to get Kurt's pants open. "Lift your hips," he says quickly, fighting off the embarrassed flush he can feel creeping up his cheeks.

 

Kurt obliges and Dave tugs off his pants and boxers in one not entirely smooth motion. Dave's not so sure about this next part but he knows what he wants to do in theory, so he decides to go for broke and moves his mouth down lower.

 

From the muffled noise Kurt starts making, what Dave’s doing is definitely working. Kurt's hands are white-knuckled in the sheets and on impulse Dave grabs one to place on his head. Kurt looks at him incredulously but nonetheless threads his fingers in Dave's hair and thrusts up gently. The shallow movement makes Dave's eyes water but it's also so full and good and Dave bobs his head with renewed enthusiasm. He's almost disappointed a few minutes later when Kurt abruptly slides his other hand into Dave's hair and pulls him off.

 

"Gonna come," Kurt gasps and Dave snakes a hand down between them just in time to finish him off.

Kurt comes with a choked-off groan that sends heat raging through Dave's blood. He doesn't even care about the mess, just hauls himself up to Kurt's lips and kisses him desperately through the aftershocks. Eventually Kurt's lips slacken against Dave's, his breaths slowing down to shallow little pants. Dave buries his face helplessly in the crook of Kurt's neck, listens to the fluttering thrum of his pulse, and tries hard not to think about the tightness in his own jeans.

 

Kurt apparently has other ideas. "I know you said we're doing this your way," he whispers, carding a hand through Dave's hair before bringing his mouth to Dave's ear, "But there's a condom in my pants if you want."

 

Dave pulls back to stare at Kurt. "Why would you—" He stops, unable to complete the question.

Kurt smiles lazily. "Thought I might be celebrating today," he replies, a little distant. He levers himself up to reach for his pants and pauses. "You got any lube?" he asks suddenly.

 

Dave stumbles to fetch the bottle from where it's hidden in his dresser, face flaming as he remembers walking into the store on the college campus just to prove that he could. He'd never been more relieved in his life to have a cashier that was female and in her mid-20s at check-out. She'd all but winked at Dave as she rang him up and then wished him good luck as he left.

 

Dave passes the lube to Kurt for inspection and he gives it a cursory glance before handing it back. "That should work fine," he says and curves an eyebrow at Dave. "How do you want me?"

 

Dave swallows and a dozen possibilities (some of them less than feasible) fly through his mind but in reality there's only one answer. "Just like that," he says hoarsely.

 

Kurt doesn't say anything in response, just leans back with a smirk and spreads his legs wider. Dave fumbles with the button on his jeans and kicks them off impatiently once they're loose. Crawling up the bed, he dips down to steal a deep, slow kiss from Kurt before snapping open the lube.

 

He keeps kissing to distract himself from what his fingers are doing, focusing instead on the warm slide of Kurt's mouth against his. It helps when Kurt starts twisting and pushing back on Dave's hand, rocking into his little thrusts and moaning softly into the kiss. Dave's got three fingers in, wriggling them and stretching Kurt out, when Kurt breaks away from the kiss to demand breathlessly, "Condom. Now." He presses the foil packet blindly into Dave's hand and whines impatiently when Dave pulls out his fingers.

 

Dave tears open the packet and rolls on the condom with an unsteady hand. He slicks himself up with some additional lube before fitting himself between Kurt. "You ready?" he asks, a little shaky.

 

Kurt nods and takes a deep breath.

 

Dave pushes in slowly, mindful of the way that air hisses through Kurt's teeth. Kurt's hands come up to clutch at Dave's shoulders and he pulls Dave down for an off-center kiss that is mostly a sharing of breath. When Dave bottoms out he forces himself to hold painfully still for long moments, straining with the effort of not moving as Kurt clenches every inch of him and struggling valiantly to keep from coming. Kurt seems to understand, wraps his legs around Dave's back but doesn't urge him forward just yet, instead drawing Dave in for another, sloppier kiss.

 

"Come on, Dave," he mumbles against his lips. "Show me what you've got."

 

Dave starts thrusting, hesitantly at first, but gradually he picks up momentum and they fall into a rhythm together. Kurt keeps trying to make him go faster, digging his heels into Dave's back encouragingly, but Dave finds he likes driving Kurt crazy by sticking to a slow pace that judging by Kurt’s face is just this shy of maddening. He occasionally slackens his thrusts even more just to tease and swallows Kurt's indignation from his lips every time.

 

Eventually though, Dave can't help it anymore and begins thrusting in earnest. Their kissing turns open-mouthed and irregular as Dave knocks breathy little whimpers out of Kurt and Kurt shifts to wrap one slim hand around himself.

 

"Yeah, just like that," Dave mutters and to his embarrassment words start to spill from him frantically like water from a broken dam. "So beautiful. Always knew you would be. Always hoped you'd look back. Always—" Dave loses the plot and settles instead on just babbling "Kurt" on a constant loop as his thrusts turn increasingly erratic.

 

Kurt looks up at him then, eyes dark with want and just the tiniest hint of something else. "Dave," he whispers.

 

From that and nothing else, Dave comes.

 

It's a few minutes before he pulls out afterwards. Dave has to come back to himself first and then when he does he's strangely reluctant to move his forehead from where it's resting lightly against Kurt's own. Eventually, though, it occurs to him that the position Kurt's holding his legs in must be pretty uncomfortable and Dave withdraws to go find some washcloths to clean them up. He pulls off the condom in the bathroom with shaking fingers and wraps it carefully in toilet paper before tossing it in the trash. Dave makes a mental note to empty his own trash this weekend and then wets a pair of washcloths to take back into the bedroom.

 

Kurt's still splayed out on the bed when he returns, eyes closed and head tilted back in the pillows. He cracks one eye open when he hears Dave approach and peers at him lazily. "So that's the Fury?" he asks, voice tinged heavy with amusement.

 

Dave smacks him with the washcloth. "Shut it, Hummel," he growls, but can’t help it when he smiles slightly too.

 

Kurt cleans himself up and then looks to Dave for what to do with the washcloth. Dave takes it from him and chucks it haphazardly toward his laundry basket, pumping his fist when it lands perfectly and earning an eye roll from Kurt in the process. Dave settles on the bed next to Kurt, unsure now what to do next. He's pretty sure Kurt will just give him an incredulous look if he tries to cuddle, but Dave figures a wrist is probably okay and steals one to caress lightly with his thumb.

 

Kurt hums softly at the contact. "I meant to tell you," he says drowsily. "You have amazing hands."

 

Dave hums too and presses a small kiss to the inside of Kurt’s wrist. He means to say something complimentary of his own in return, but the late afternoon sunshine saps what's left of Dave’s energy, and despite the best of his intentions Dave's eyes soon flutter shut.

 

* * *

 

The light is almost gone when Dave wakes up. He registers vaguely the lack of Kurt’s presence beside him and opens his eyes a little wider to discover that Kurt’s currently sitting on the edge of the bed buttoning up his shirt.

 

"Hey," Dave calls softly.

 

Kurt turns. "Hey," he replies, voice unreadable.

 

Dave shifts uncomfortably on the bed. Maybe it's the lack of endorphins, but things are awkward now in a way they weren't immediately post-sex, made more so by the fact that Kurt is now completely dressed and Dave isn't. He climbs off the bed and pulls his jeans on clumsily, then checks the clock. "So my parents will probably be home soon," he says, "did you want to—"

 

"I'll get out of your hair," Kurt interrupts briskly. He retrieves his scarf from the floor and wraps it securely around his neck. "I promised my dad I'd still make Friday dinner, just to delay it a few hours."

 

"Oh," says Dave blankly, sitting back down on the bed. "See you at Boston then, maybe?" he tries.

 

Kurt lets out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm not going to Boston, Karofsky."

 

"What? But—“ Dave stutters, confused. “I thought you got in," he finishes weakly.

 

"They didn't give me a scholarship," Kurt says sharply. "Do you know what tuition at the Conservatory runs?" He barrels on before Dave even has a chance to open his mouth. "Almost thirty-two thousand a year. I can't ask my family to take out those kind of loans, not when I won't be able to repay them for years and with Finn going to college too. It would bankrupt them."

 

"So, you're going to college elsewhere?" Dave hazards. "I know that you and Berry—"

 

"I didn't get into any of schools I auditioned for at the Unifieds," Kurt cuts in. "Theater schools will do that sometimes, if they think you're likely to pick another school. All I've got is Boston and I can't afford to go.” His voice starts to crack a little. “So instead I'm stuck in this _hick_ _state_."

 

Dave's head spins as he tries to reconcile the impossibility that there could be schools out there which would accept Dave but none apparently that would accept Kurt. "But—I mean—stop me if I'm wrong, but couldn't you just defer for a year?" He stands up to move closer to Kurt. "Do a year of theater at the Lima branch of OSU or something, and then audition again next winter? Lots of places around here have rolling admissions and—"

 

"How easy for you to say that," Kurt says quietly. "You've always had a choice about being labeled gay. No one's ever looked at you and thought 'gee, that kid would look better with some bruises' or 'hey, let's stop the spread of more AIDS.'" He gestures furiously. "You get to be invisible to them, safe in your cozy little caricature of heterosexuality unless you _decide_ to inform them. Not all of us have that option."

 

"Okay, yeah, Lima sucks sometimes," Dave admits, "but it's not all bad. I visited a lot of colleges around here over the summer and most of them had a Gay-Straight Alliance and they were really—"

 

"They were really what, Karofsky?" Kurt snaps. "Good at changing the minds of small-town bigots? Ensuring that you get equal treatment at a hardware store or that a waitress doesn't refuse to serve you?" He cuts himself off and stares at the floor. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come here," he says finally, eyes fixed on the carpet.

 

"So why did you?" Dave can't help but ask.

 

Kurt surveys him coolly. "I was looking for something specific," he says shortly. "I didn't find it."

 

He stalks across Dave's room and viciously yanks open the door before pausing. "Let's handle this mistake better than our last one, Karofsky," he says brusquely, turning around to face him. "I tell you now that I'm not going to tell anyone, and in return you agree to stay the hell away from me at McKinley.” He levels Dave a cold look, eyes hard as diamonds. “That work for you?"

 

"Yeah," Dave agrees tonelessly, unable to muster up protest. "Works great."

 

Kurt's lips pinch at his words and for a moment Dave thinks he's going to say something more. Instead, though, Kurt just jerks his head in a short nod and then whirls into the hallway. Dave hears his footsteps heading down the stairs and a minute later there's the sound of an engine starting in the driveway.

 

Dave sits numbly on the edge of his bed, eyes refusing to focus on anything before Dave buries his face in his hands. _Something specific. Shouldn't have come here. Stay away from me._ The scathing words echo like an angry chorus through Dave's head and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes just to stop them from stinging. Well, if what Kurt had wanted was Dave's complete humiliation, he thinks dully, he had most certainly walked away with that.

 

Dave retrieves his shirt from where he'd torn it off earlier in the evening and pulls it awkwardly back on. He heads listlessly downstairs to the kitchen to check for leftovers and finds a Post-it note with a smiley face from his mom on some hamburger lasagna in the fridge. It's not his favorite meal but he reheats it anyway, desperate for something to take away the cold feeling currently sitting in the pit of his stomach.

  
His parents end up not showing up until around ten that night. Apparently, there had been some interesting guests at the party and they all went out for drinks together afterward. His mom seems just this side of tipsy and giggles a little as she leans in to kiss Dave goodnight on her way up the stairs.

 

"Did you see the lasagna I left you?" she asks and waits until he gives her a nod. "Good, I'd hate to think you went hungry," she teases, patting his belly fondly. She gives him another kiss on the cheek and then heads upstairs.

 

His father isn't tipsy like his mom, but Dave can tell by way he seems even more mellow than usual that he's had one or two drinks himself. Unfortunately, this doesn't translate to a corresponding decrease in his perceptive abilities. "David, are you okay?" he asks softly, hanging up his coat. "You look upset."

 

Dave goes to make something up, give his dad something trivial like he always does, but the easy words get stuck somehow in his throat. Instead what tumbles out of his mouth is "Dad, can I talk to you?"

 

His dad looks surprised. "Of course." He gestures toward the couch. "Sit down."

 

"That always makes me feel like one of your clients," Dave blurts out and winces at his own honesty.

 

"All right," agrees his father easily, seeming unperturbed. He clasps his hands together in front of his chest and gives his full attention to Dave. "What's on your mind?"

 

Dave swallows. "There's something I want to tell you," he says hoarsely and hesitates. He hasn't really thought this through and he doesn't know how his dad's going to react, but somehow Dave just knows that this, right here, is the moment to tell his father.

 

"I know I haven't always made you proud," he starts, trying to ease into it. "And that's my fault because I've done some pretty stupid things, but—but I feel like I've been doing better about those things and part of the reason for that is I stopped being so afraid of how other people saw me and what they might think and—"

 

Dave's really starting to wish now that he had planned this out beforehand, because he's pretty sure he sounds like a freaking idiot. "But I still care about what _you_ think,” he plows on, “because you're really important to me and that's why it's been so hard for me to say anything because I didn't want you to be disappointed in me again even though I really wanted to tell you and I was planning on waiting until college but I don't think I can now and I—"

 

Dave gives up. "I'm gay, Dad," he says in a rush.

 

There's a pause. Then his father says gently, "I know, David."

 

Dave's pulse is racing a mile a minute so it takes a moment for him to process his dad's words over the rush of blood in his ears. "What?" he manages at last.

 

"I first suspected after the meeting regarding your expulsion," his dad explains softly, "when you looked almost as scared as Kurt to be sitting in that room. I couldn't think of anything else that might be making you look at him as terrified as he was looking at you.” He pauses. “But it was when two hundred extra miles suddenly appeared on the Corolla overnight that I knew." He fixes compassionate eyes on Dave. "You went to see Kurt down at Dalton, didn't you? That's why he transferred back."

 

"Yeah," croaks Dave, unable to process the idea that all this time his father _had known_.

 

His dad claps a hand on Dave's shoulder. "I'm not always proud of the things that you've done, but I am always proud of _you_ , David. I'm sorry if I've ever made you doubt that. Who you love doesn't make any difference to me, and it never will. Now come here." He pulls Dave carefully into a hug.

 

Dave clutches at his father in a way that he hasn't since he started middle school and found out that such things were for sissies. He still has a question, though. "Does mom know?" he whispers.

 

His father chuckles. "She was the one who noticed the mileage when she borrowed your car."

 

"Oh," says Dave.

 

"She's still adjusting to the idea," his dad says, pulling back, "but don't doubt that she loves you just as much, David. Give her time. Whoever you decide to be outside this house, know that we both want you to feel that you can be yourself inside our home."

 

Dave laughs a little despite himself. "Yeah, I wasn't exactly planning on coming out at McKinley any time soon," he says.

 

"And that's fine," his father replies. "Just know that your mother and I will support you in whatever decision you make." He gives Dave's shoulder a final squeeze and lets his arm drop to his side. "Now is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

 

"No, I think I'm good, Dad," Dave says honestly.

 

His father nods. "Then I'll be joining your mother. Goodnight, David." He pauses on the stairs. "Thank you for telling me."

 

"Night, Dad," Dave replies.

 

He briefly considers following his dad upstairs, even going so far as to place his right foot on the step, but then Dave remembers how his bed will still be messed up and probably smelling from earlier yet too. A sick wave of shame rolls through his gut and Dave opts instead to sleep downstairs on the couch.

 

* * *

 

He's wakened in the morning by the noise of some pans clattering in the kitchen. It's most likely his mom and she's trying to be quiet, but Dave honestly wasn't sleeping all that deeply anyway. He gets up and pads into the kitchen on bare feet, sitting down at the table with a yawn.

 

His mom turns around at the sound. "Oh, sweetie, I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry." She waves the frying pan. "I was thinking about making pancakes. Would you like some?"

 

Dave shrugs. "Sure."

 

There's a soft, comfortable silence as she mixes batter and oils the pan. Dave closes his eyes and leans back to enjoy the early morning sunshine while he waits. When his mom slides the first plate of golden, fluffy pancakes across to him, Dave accepts them wordlessly and gets up to get the syrup out of the fridge.

 

It's not until his mom sits down with her own plate of pancakes across from him and starts eating in easy silence that it occurs to Dave there's maybe a question he ought to be asking.

 

"Mom," he says carefully, just in case he's mistaken. "Did Dad talk to you last night? About me?"

 

His mom pauses for a moment and then carefully and deliberately lays down her fork. "Yes, David," she says quietly. "He did."

 

Dave's grip tightens on his own fork like a lifeline. "And?"

 

His mother sighs. "What do you expect me to say, David?" She smiles at him, a little sadly. "You're my son. I can't just choose to stop loving you." She waves a hand distractedly. “Is this something I would have chosen for you? No, and if I'm perfectly honest, it's not really something I understand either. But you are my son, and nothing you say or do can change that."

 

The pressure in Dave's chest eases gradually at her last words. "Thanks, Mom," he mutters.

 

"I'm your mom, you never need to thank me," she says primly, "except for making you delicious pancakes. Could you pass the syrup?"

 

Dave raises an eyebrow. His mom hasn't used syrup since Ms. Fabray commented on her "thunder thighs" four years ago.

 

"Today is a special occasion," his mom defends. "I'll go back to my diet tomorrow."

 

Dave says nothing but passes her the syrup with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Originally, Dave had planned to use this weekend to review the pros and cons of each of his colleges and maybe make a decision. The spring signing for National Letters of Intent, after all, is only a couple of weeks away. He's got to pin this down. The second Dave looks at Boston, however, Kurt's parting words start ringing through his head. _Let's handle this mistake better than our last one, Karofsky._ After his few feeble attempts to start a pros list for Boston yields such items as “something specific” and “condom in back pocket” Dave gives up on writing any of the lists and spends all weekend thinking about Kurt and their inexplicable hookup instead.

 

In hindsight, the story is simple. Kurt had been upset over Boston, enough so that he had started seeking a target for his frustration. Dave, unfortunately, had chosen that moment to wander by and thus became the designated scapegoat. Dave scowls. The more he thinks about it, the more he slides from feeling humiliated to infuriated. What right did Kurt have to waltz back into Dave's life and screw it up like he'd never left? Where did he get off saying he hadn't gotten what he'd come for when he'd fallen asleep with Dave in Dave's own damn bed?

 

And what was with that look he'd worn during, the one where his eyes had been so soft and so scared?

 

By the time Monday rolls around, Dave’s ready to ambush Kurt just to get some answers. He hesitates briefly at the thought of breaking the promise he made, but then decides screw it. Kurt only asked Dave for that after he sucker-punched Dave anyway. He deserves a freaking ambush.

 

Of course, Dave's plan is entirely dependent on being able to find Kurt. To Dave's actual physical horror, Monday proves to be like junior year all over again. Kurt changes all his usual patterns so that he's not in any of places he commonly frequents and the one time that Dave manages to catch a glimpse of him, Kurt literally turns around and walks the opposite way.

 

Dave sends him a text that night in pure frustration. _This is stupid. We need to talk._

 

Kurt's reply comes ten minutes later. _How did you get this number?_

 

Dave rolls his eyes, types back. _You called me back in the fall, remember? Idiot_

 

It's another ten minutes before he receives a response. _We have nothing to talk about. Text me again and I’ll go to Sylvester._

 

Dave swears and then does what he told himself he wouldn't do. He hits dial on his phone and listens in growing annoyance as it obnoxiously rings six times before going to voicemail. _Hi, this is Kurt Hummel. I’m unavailable at the moment, so if you haven’t reached me in some kind of fine motor skills error, leave me a message and I’ll give you a call back._ There's a beep and Dave pauses, trying to think of something simple and non-inflammatory to say. He exhales loudly when he realizes that Kurt isn't any more likely to listen to a voicemail message than a text and ultimately hangs up without saying anything.

 

Instead, Dave redoubles his efforts to find Kurt at school, taking full advantage of every break and checking all the alternate hallways. It's around fifth period that he finally lucks out. Kurt’s walking with Mercedes at the other end of the hall and her presence obviously makes him reluctant to just stop and turn around. Dave thanks Mercedes in his head, doesn’t waste any time, and walks up to them quickly.

 

"Hey Mercedes," he says first, giving her a polite smile and receiving a disbelieving look in return. Dave switches focus to Kurt. "Kurt. Can we talk?"

 

The line of Kurt's mouth tightens. "Sorry, I've got class."

 

"Skip it," says Dave automatically, forgetting who he’s talking to.

 

Kurt scowls fiercely. "Those of us without full athletic scholarships actually have to worry about our grades, Karofsky," he says nastily. "We can't all be brainless puckheads." He pushes past Dave roughly. "Come on, Mercedes."

 

Mercedes follows, but not without shooting Dave a curious look over her shoulder.

 

She's waiting for him by his locker after school. "We eat first lunch on the right-hand side of the cafeteria," she says without preamble when he approaches, before Dave even has a chance to ask why she's there.

 

Dave gapes at her. "What?"

 

"My boy Kurt hates making a scene. Well, off the stage anyway," she amends. "If you want to talk to him, then that's your time."

 

"Why are you helping me?" he asks slowly.

 

Mercedes fixes him with a glare. "Ten days ago Kurt was willing to come with me to a church that I found that actually approves of gay people. No pressure on him to believe, I just wanted him to see that not all churches are as backward as he makes them out to be. Now something’s happened and he's being all closed off and refusing to come. It seems pretty obvious that _something_ has to do with you. So whatever happened," she glowers, "you fix it." Her unspoken "or else" hangs in the air.

 

"Right-hand side?" Dave says finally.

 

"Right-hand side," Mercedes nods. She looks at him piercingly for a long moment and then walks off.

 

* * *

 

Dave is nervous as hell entering the cafeteria the next day. He's skipping calculus to attend this lunch and it's suddenly occurred to him that he's been gunning for this confrontation more or less on impulse. Dave isn't actually sure what he wants to say to Kurt, even less sure what he’d like to say in the middle of the cafeteria. His palms are sweaty and now that Dave thinks about it the whole confrontation idea sounds more and more like a recipe for disaster, like playing all the highlights of their junior year on some kind of sick repeat. He thinks about ducking out then, but Mercedes catches sight of him from across the cafeteria and impatiently calls him over with a wave of her hand.

 

Dave takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and walks over. “Hey, Kurt,” he says quietly as he sits down.

 

Kurt stares at Dave in confusion for a few seconds, like his mind simply can’t comprehend how Dave has come to be here. The answer obviously dawns on him and he shoots Mercedes an outraged look of betrayal. Mercedes returns it with a look of her own—Dave thinks it might be the facial equivalent of "bitch, please"—and goes comfortably back to her tots.

 

Dave chooses his words carefully. "I'm sorry to do this in public," he says first, because it's true, "but you won't talk to me otherwise and I think I deserve some answers."

 

"Like hell I owe you anything, Karofsky," Kurt hisses, but he doesn't get up and leave.

 

"Last Friday," Dave continues determinedly, "you were upset about Boston. You knew I was looking at Boston too. Is that why you picked me?"

 

Kurt’s look shifts from furious to uncomfortable. His eyes flicker to Mercedes and—yeah, Dave wishes they weren't having this conversation in front of her. She’s doing her best to pretend she’s not listening, though, and it's hardly Dave's fault anyway when Kurt's the one who refused to talk in private or pick up the phone.

 

Kurt licks his lips. "I told you. It was a mistake.”

 

"Yeah," Dave says. "Mind telling me why?"

 

Kurt bristles. "I think you know why," he snaps.

 

"Tell me anyway," Dave counters.

 

Kurt flips from playing defense to offense like a Selke finalist. "Really, Karofsky?" he drawls, just this side of suggestive. He raises his eyebrows delicately. "You want to talk about Boston here?"

 

"Yeah," says Dave stubbornly, refusing to take the bait. "Tell me what's wrong with Ohio."

 

"You threw me into lockers and ruined my clothes for years,” Kurt says incredulously, “and you have to ask what's wrong with Ohio?"

 

"You notice I haven't done any of that since you left?" Dave returns. He leans in closer. "It ever occur to you that I might have changed?"

 

Kurt meets his gaze coolly. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, pushing away from the table and grabbing his things. “We’ll talk later, Mercedes,” he throws out as he leaves.

 

Dave has had enough of this. “You ever get tired of playing the victim, Kurt?” he calls loudly, standing up and following him through the tables. Conversation in the immediate vicinity grinds to a halt as a number of people pause in their lunchtime gossip to stare. Dave does his best to ignore them. “Does it make you feel better than the rest of us when you pretend you’re a martyr?” he taunts.

 

Kurt whirls around. “I don’t have to justify myself to the likes of you, Karofsky,” he says, teeth clenched.

 

Mercedes was wrong, Dave thinks, dead wrong. Confronting Kurt in the cafeteria is quite possibly the worst decision that Dave could have made. Neither of them has ever been able to keep their head around the other—not junior year and not now either, and Dave has a feeling this is about to go very wrong, very fast. The words keep coming anyway.

 

“You don’t have to," Dave scoffs. "I can tell you right now you’re a coward. You ran away to Dalton, and, okay, that was justified because I was a freaking screw-up who made you feel unsafe. But this—right here?" He gestures vaguely. “Pretending you don’t have options just because you can’t attend your fancy private school out-of-state?” He points a finger at Kurt. “That’s you being too narrow-minded to give anyone else in this state a chance, and that’s not really any better than when I used to shove you into lockers.”

 

Kurt’s gaze doesn’t waver. "Screw you, Karofsky," he says savagely, eyes hard with rage and looking just as self-righteous as he had that day in the locker room.

 

And for the first time in Dave's life, he just doesn't _care_. "Already been there," he says flatly, "haven't we?"

 

The silence in the cafeteria is heavy enough to hear a pin drop.

 

Kurt stares at him with wide eyes and Dave looks levelly back. After a few moments, when no one in the cafeteria has said a word and it becomes clear that Kurt's not going to either, Dave gives him a jerk of his head and walks out, head resolutely held high.

 

And okay, maybe his knees do quake a little once he's out of sight and maybe Dave has to stop just to take a few quick breaths as all of his old fears start rushing back. The game is well and truly up this time, no chance of denial anymore. The whole school knows—or will—inside an hour. Dave is never going to enter the locker room without being the recipient of a dozen sidewise looks ever again. Yet Dave has trouble caring about that as much as he thinks he should. It’s just, well, what’s the point? After all, Dave's going to college, he's getting out of Lima, and in six weeks he won't have to care what any of the people in this school think ever again. It seems like a waste of time to care now.

 

Dave slides into calculus with a tardy slip and is met with curious glances from Mr. Barlow and no fewer than a half-dozen students. Some of them immediately begin texting furiously with their phones under their desks and Dave has no doubt that they're sending updates on his status to their still lunching friends. He ignores them all and pulls out his notebook to start following the problem on the board.

 

The rest of the day is like that. Whispers and sidelong glances follow Dave wherever he goes, both in class and in the halls. Dave does his best to pretend that the whispers don't exist and defiantly goes about his routine like normal. "So this is what it's like to be Hummel," he considers idly at one point before squashing the thought viciously.

 

The first real divergence of the day happens after school lets out. Dave goes to empty his gym locker as a preemptive measure against vandalism and runs into none other than Puckerman in the locker room.

 

He's leaning against the opposite row of lockers when Dave walks in. Dave’s not sure how Puckerman knew he would be there, but from the way that he surveys Dave critically it’s pretty obvious that he was waiting. Puckerman’s expression reads like he's not sure whether or not he likes what he sees and Dave determinedly ignores him as he goes to pull out his equipment. He’s almost finished when Puckerman speaks.

 

"You really a fairy?" he asks bluntly.

 

Dave closes his locker door carefully. "Hummel let you call him that?"

 

"Nah, I call him Princess Peach," he deadpans. Puckerman leans forward and stalks toward Dave. "Seriously, Karofsky? You picked the middle of the cafeteria?"

 

Dave's not sure whether he's referring to Dave's coming out or shouting at Kurt. "Mercedes' idea," he replies, either way.

 

"Girl always did have spunk," says Puckerman appreciably. Then he wraps a fist in Dave’s shirt. "You hurt him and I will cut you," he threatens with a low growl.

 

"What makes you think I want anything to do with Hummel?" says Dave, shoving his hand off irritably.

 

Puckerman smirks. "Not all of us are as oblivious as Kurt. Tell your friend Azimio that for someone in creative writing, he’s slightly lacking in the creativity department. I figured out what he was with your jock cred doing three weeks in.” He raises his hands, palms out, and backs off.

 

“Keep up your rep, dude!" Dave hears him call cheerfully as the door to the locker room slams.

 

Dave gets his equipment into the car without further incident and drives home. His mother gives him a strained smile from the kitchen table when he walks in. "Exciting day at school, sweetheart?" she asks wryly.

 

Dave notices abruptly that their landline has been disconnected and winces. "I'm guessing you've already heard about it."

 

"Started ringing off the hook around two," she agrees. "I decided to just unplug it after the fourth expression of condolences."

 

Dave winces again. "I'm sorry, Mom. I know those mothers in the social club are your friends."

 

"Oh, they're a bunch of harpies, David," his mother sighs. "I'm well rid of them. I only ever joined in the first place to keep from being bored." She makes a face. "I should have realized sooner that the club is just like a second run of high school for these people—same rules, same faces, same ridiculous standards of behavior and overly petty cliques.” She snorts. ”It's time I admitted that kind of behavior is best left in high school."

 

"What are you going to do now?" asks Dave.

 

"I think I might take up gardening," she says decisively. "I’ve always wanted to, just never had the time. I’ll have to get some books out of the library first, but I don’t think it’s too late to start one this year. Or, I suppose, I could always talk to Mrs. Hummel," she adds. She raises eyebrows at Dave fondly. "Really, David? Kurt?"

 

Dave laughs despite himself. "Yeah, Mom," he admits. "Kurt."

 

"Hmm." There's a pause. "He does have nice bone structure," she says thoughtfully.

 

Dave stares.

 

His mom shrugs. "Just trying to see things from your perspective."

 

Dave has no idea how to respond to this. He thinks about it, opens and closes his mouth a few times to ask for clarification, but ultimately goes with his first instinct. "Let's make this the last time we talk about boys together ever again," he says.

 

"Oh, thank goodness," says his mom with relief. "I wasn't sure if there was a gay mother-son bonding moment we were supposed to be having there." She's got a mischievous grin on her face, though, and Dave can't help it when he smiles back.

 

"Thanks, Mom," he says quietly.

 

She waves her hand. "Save it for pancakes, kid."

 

Dave’s father has heard the news too by the time he comes home, which is frustrating but not actually unexpected. Dave takes a moment to wonder if people in Lima are seriously that starved for excitement before deciding he’d really rather not know.

 

"I thought you said you were waiting for college, David?" is all that his dad inquires as he carefully shucks off his penny loafers by the door.

 

"It kind of just slipped out," Dave admits.

 

His father nods. "That's actually very good. It means you're becoming more comfortable in your identity and don’t feel as big of a need to hide." He gives Dave a quick hug. "I'm proud of you, and no matter what anyone else says you are no less my son."

 

Dave holds on a little tighter and tries guiltily not to think of the gutted look on Kurt’s face in the cafeteria.

 

* * *

 

His parents let him skip school the next day. It's the last day before spring break anyway, so it's mostly going to be teachers handing out crosswords or popping in videos. Dave decides to make proper use of his newfound free time by making the lists he’d planned to do over the weekend. He labels the top of each paper with the name of the college he’s considering, then carefully pencils in pros and cons as he thinks of them. When he's done with all three, Dave spreads them out on the floor to compare.

 

Being forced to put everything that he's been thinking on paper makes a number of things clearer. For one, Dave figures out he really isn't all that enthused about OSU. The pros list he has for them is half as long as the ones he made for Miami and Boston, and most of them are stupid things like "Being able to score cheap tickets to Buckeye games." Dave reads the list through carefully twice just to make sure he really can’t think of anything else, then without ceremony throws the list in the trash. He pulls Miami and Boston closer together and compares them side by side.

 

It's not an easy decision. Most of the pros Dave that has listed apply equally to both universities. Broad program selection. Small class size. Willingness to admit Dave. He reads through the letters they sent him, and though they differ in the details the amount they're offering in their National Letters of Intent is about the same. So it really comes down to the campus and what he wants. Does Dave want to attend a huge urban college on the eastern seaboard? Or would he rather go to a smaller suburban school in western Ohio?

 

A week ago, Dave would have answered yes to the first question in a heartbeat. Now, he's not so sure.

 

The truth is—Dave recognizes a lot of his own thinking in Kurt's. The plans that Dave made to come out in college were always for a place that was far away from _here_. Boston had been his favorite choice simply because Dave knew that being gay there would be easy. Kurt had almost undoubtedly thought the same and Dave can imagine what it would be like to have that dream and have it taken away.

 

He can't help but think now, though, that this whole time they've been selling Ohio short. After all, look at Dave's parents. They knew Dave was gay for months and waited for him to tell them. Or Puckerman, who had noticed Dave wasn't tossing slushies anymore but kept quiet and was now apparently chill with the fact he liked dudes. Or the protesters Dave had seen on his college tour, the ones with the brightly painted faces who made Dave realize that coming out would be okay. Lima may be years from celebrating gay marriage like in Boston, but it's not exactly the cesspool of homophobia that Dave used to think it either.

 

Once he acknowledges that, his choice becomes blindingly clear.

 

"I'm signing for Miami," he tells his parents when they get home that night.

 

The two of them look nonplussed. After a moment, his dad ventures, "I thought you had your heart set on Boston, son?"

 

Dave shakes his head. "I didn't really like the campus," he admits. "It was too big, too noisy and you couldn't really distinguish it from the surrounding city. It didn't feel like a college campus to me, you know? I liked the visits I made to Miami much better. I feel like I would do better there and besides I think their coach plans to use me more anyway."

 

His mom reacts to the shift in his enthusiasm with aplomb. "Well, it'll be certainly nice to have you closer to home," she says diplomatically. "Only an hour, that's not too long for you to come home some weekends."

 

"And if you think they'll play you more, then you're more likely to stay on the team for multiple seasons," his father adds sagely.

 

Dave grins helplessly, because his dad still doesn't know any more about sports than he did when Dave first started playing but the fact that he's making an effort means everything. Dave maybe hugs both his parents then and tries not to think about how over the past week that might have started to become a habit. He's not sure that he minds if it has.

 

Church that weekend is kind of awkward. Dave and his parents don't go every week, but they always try to make the major holidays. So while he's not certain, Dave's pretty sure that in previous years they never had anyone stare at them throughout the entire Easter mass. It’s not even that they’re whispering behind their hands or anything; it’s just that whenever Dave looks, it seems like half the congregation is always watching them, a strange mixture of curiosity and disapproval on their faces. He can tell his mom notices too by the way that the corners of her mouth turn down. When the mass is over, she ushers Dave and his father out without stopping to talk to anyone and then doesn't say a word the whole car ride home.

 

Dave remembers suddenly how Mercedes had talked about wanting to take Kurt to some gay-friendly church she found. He understands now why the “gay-friendly” portion was so important and wonders if she ever actually managed to talk Kurt around. He wonders how she found out about the church in the first place and resolves to ask her about it the next time he sees her. Of course, knowing Mercedes she'll probably knee Dave in the junk for what he said to Kurt in the cafeteria, but he figures it's at least worth a shot.

 

Dave prints out the National Letter of Intent from Miami and signs it Monday night. He gives it to his father to sign too, who hesitates briefly.

 

"This isn't because of Kurt, is it?" he asks. "Because you know, David, you shouldn't pick a college just because—"

 

Dave cuts him off. "Boston would have been more about Kurt, Dad. Miami is about what I want."

 

His father nods, signs the letter, and puts it in his briefcase to fax the next day. "Just thought I'd check."

 

Tuesday is the last day of what Dave's sure must be the shortest spring break in the history of ever. (He hates the Lima school district and their scheduling system with a passion sometimes.) Dave decides not to waste it, gets up early and does some running before plopping himself in front of the Xbox to settle in for a serious gaming marathon. He's just starting up the console when there's a series of knocks at the door.

 

When he opens it, Kurt's standing there in a slate grey peacoat on his front step. "Hey," he says, sounding awkward.

 

"What are you doing here?" falls out of Dave's mouth before he can think better of it and Dave steps outside. He pulls the door shut behind him—which is stupid because it’s not like there’s anyone at home he’s trying to keep this conversation secret from—and looks down at Kurt guardedly.

 

Kurt, for his part, raises tentative eyes to meet his. "You said I owed you some explanations," he says. "I think you're right.” His eyes flicker to the door. “May I come in?"

 

If this conversation is about to go anything like Dave thinks it might, then Dave definitely doesn't want to have it inside his house. "There's a park a couple blocks from here,” he suggests instead. “Why don't we head there?"

 

Kurt makes a face but nods. He lets Dave lead the way and they don't talk on the walk over. The playground is empty this time of day, so Dave sits down on one of the swings and stretches his legs out with a little satisfied grunt. Kurt huffs a laugh but sits gingerly on the swing next to him anyway.

 

They're both kind of determinedly not looking at each other when Kurt says, out of the blue, "I dated three guys while I was at Dalton."

 

Dave's not sure what he's supposed to say to that, so he keeps silent and waits for Kurt to explain.

 

"You met the first guy—Blaine? He's the one who came to McKinley to talk to you after the locker room kiss," continues Kurt. "We weren't dating at the time, by the way. That didn't happen until a few months later, after I transferred. We broke up when he left for college because it made sense at the time and we'd also kind of realized we were maybe too similar to each other. Relationships are hard when you both share all the same weaknesses and the same strengths."

 

Kurt snorts. "Okay, that's giving myself way too much credit. As much as I would like to have been that self-aware—honestly?” he says wryly. “I was just devastated by the loss of my first boyfriend. I started going out with another guy just to prove that I could and made sure he was the complete opposite of Blaine to make my point clear. That guy's name was Ethan."

 

"You don't have to tell me about all the people you've slept with, Kurt," Dave interjects harshly, because he really doesn't see where Kurt is going with this.

 

"Ethan was five or six inches taller than me, blond, muscles," persists Kurt, "and for your information we didn't sleep together. In fact, we mostly just kissed. But Ethan was the one who made me aware I had a certain appeal to select members of the rainbow coalition—namely, to large guys who were looking for someone they could easily pin down. It wasn't my thing," he comments dispassionately, "but it certainly was Ethan's, and I couldn't deny I wasn't thinking about Blaine whenever he did it."

 

Dave feels his hands curl tight around the chain of the swing. "So on that Friday then—" he forces out.

 

"I wanted to forget about Boston and was looking for someone who would make it hurt," Kurt says plainly. "With the way you used to shove me into lockers, I was sure you'd fit the bill."

 

Dave tries to laugh, but some kind of strangled sound comes out instead. "So you really weren't kidding when you said you wanted a taste of the Fury," he says at last.

 

"It isn't my fault you apparently have the naming aptitude of a five-year-old," Kurt defends wildly, waving his hands. "How was I supposed to know you'd be all weirdly considerate and tender?"

 

"Maybe you should have taken into consideration the fact I've had a crush on you since sophomore year and would have done anything for a second chance," Dave shoots back.

 

Something in Kurt's face changes sharply at that last part. "Oh my Gaga," he breathes. He stands up abruptly and moves a few paces away, turning his back toward Dave. The line of his shoulders is tense, and when he speaks again Kurt's voice is weird and undeniably strained. "I was your first, wasn't I?"

 

Dave's face burns and he’s unspeakably grateful Kurt chose to turn his back for this. "Wasn't anyone else I liked with you gone," he mutters to the mulch.

 

Kurt's shoulders start shaking and it takes Dave a minute to realize that he's laughing—not in the "ha ha isn't it hilarious that I broke the jock's heart" kind of way, but more in a slightly unhinged fashion that suggests "what is my life" instead. Dave doesn't really know anything to do in this kind of situation so he just waits patiently until Kurt stops laughing and sits back down.

 

"I'm sorry," Kurt says. He looks down at his hands. "I never would have done that if I knew it would be your first time. Your first should be special."

 

Dave kicks some mulch. "It wasn't that bad," he says quietly. "Up to the point where you left."

 

"I'm sorry," Kurt says again. "I guess in some ways I still thought of us in this ‘former tormenter with his favorite target’ mindset and I just wanted to get out of there as cleanly as possible. I should have known better."

 

"I wouldn't say that," disagrees Dave. He gestures between them. "I mean—look at us, we're not exactly friends."

 

"I think maybe we could be," replies Kurt. He plays with the edge of his sleeve for a moment before asking hesitantly, "So what are your plans for Boston?"

 

Dave gains an understanding of Kurt’s earlier hysteria as he suddenly laughs from deep in his gut. "I'm not going to Boston, Kurt."

 

Kurt's eyebrows disappear into his hair. "You're not?" he asks disbelievingly.

 

"Nope," agrees Dave. He pushes himself off the swing and shoves both hands in his pockets. "I thought about it and realized I'd really rather sign for Miami."

 

"Miami, Ohio?" Kurt repeats, like he's checking for brain damage.

 

"Miami, Ohio," Dave confirms. Then, because it seems important, he says, "There's nothing wrong with Ohio, Kurt. You've just got to be willing to look past a lot of crap to see it. People everywhere are becoming more accepting all the time, and on the colleges I visited being gay wasn't a big deal at all. Hell, even at McKinley Puckerman approves of us."

 

"Puck? Noah Puckerman?"

 

"Yep." Sheer curiosity compels Dave to ask, "Does he really call you Princess Peach?"

 

Kurt snorts. "Behind my back, I wouldn't doubt it," he says dryly. He seems more fondly exasperated by the news than displeased.

 

Dave files that away for future reference. "My point is," he continues, "that if even the über-straight jock who used to toss you into dumpsters every morning can go from _that_ to having your back, then maybe you really should give Ohio more of a chance."

 

Kurt exhales loudly. "I'll consider it." He looks up at Dave. "So where exactly is Miami University?"

 

Dave stares. "Really? You were giving me crap for choosing Miami and you don't even know where it is?" Kurt stares back at him, unrepentant. As is usual with Kurt, Dave simply gives up. "It's about an hour south of here, small college town," he offers.

 

"About an hour," says Kurt thoughtfully. “Huh.” Dave waits, but Kurt doesn't elaborate any further.

 

"We cool?" he says finally, just to break the silence.

 

Kurt stands and brushes himself off. "Yes, Karofsky, I believe we are 'cool,'" he says drolly, the special emphasis he places on the last word making it clear he's mocking Dave.

 

"Watch it, Hummel," Dave growls. He grins and Kurt smirks back.

 

* * *

 

School the next day isn't that bad. People are still talking about Dave pretty much nonstop, but none of the other jocks are trying to slushie him or anything. Apparently being two hundred pounds and having a somewhat undeserved reputation for fits of berserker rage are more than enough to serve effectively as deterrents for most people. Dave moves his equipment back into his locker after homeroom and dares anyone with a glare to tell him otherwise.

 

Puckerman gives him an approving nod when he catches Dave in the halls and Dave gives him his own satisfied little jerk in return. Unfortunately, this causes him to miss the sight of an incoming Finn Hudson, who skillfully manages to corner Dave against the lockers.

 

"Karofsky," Hudson says firmly and Dave prepares himself to receive a verbal onslaught like no other.

 

Instead of lashing into him about Kurt, though, Hudson just starts babbling—about fire alarms of all things and the need that they have for their batteries to be regularly replaced and the importance of fire alarms—though highly undervalued by many people in today's society—in the unlikely but still very possible event of a fire. He’s just moved on to firefighters and how they’re really good at putting out fires if you ever accidentally forget to change your batteries when it hits Dave that Hudson's trying to ask whether he and Kurt used protection.

 

"Oh for freak's sake," he says in horror and yanks Hudson's head in close. "I'm only going to say this once," Dave whispers fiercely. "He had a condom. We were safe. Now considering this is your _stepbrother_ we're talking about, both of us are going to agree to never speak of this again. That clear?"

 

Hudson nods and Dave releases him. Hudson rubs his neck a little and then looks at Dave oddly. "Just— be good to him, okay?" he says weirdly and walks off before Dave can ask him what he means.

 

He gets his answer the next day when Kurt comes up to Dave after the final bell and without any warning pushes him flat to kiss him against the lockers. Dave's hands drop to Kurt's hips automatically and he kisses back for a few seconds before it occurs to him where they are and he hurriedly pulls away.

 

Kurt's looking at him, eyes bold and determined. "So, I lied," he says.

 

Dave's heart sinks even as he has no idea what Kurt's talking about. "What?"

 

"There was still one school I was waiting to hear back from yet,” he explains. “Theater schools are generally pretty good about letting you know whether or not you're in right away so I figured I'd been put on their waiting list in case someone else dropped. Well, they emailed me last night.” He grins. “I've been accepted."

 

"That's great, Kurt," Dave says breathlessly, because he can't think of anything else to say. Then the obvious hits him like a slapshot. "Wait, what school?"

 

"The Conservatory of Music at the University of Cincinnati," Kurt replies. “It’s a lot cheaper than Boston and Cincinnati has need-based financial aid so what they’re offering me is actually possible.” He takes a deep breath. "I checked and it's only about an hour away from Miami, so I'm not saying it would be easy, but it’s really not any further than when I thought the distance would be Lima and Miami and I was willing to try that so—"

 

"Kurt," Dave interrupts dazedly, because _no way_ is this actually happening. "Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"

 

Kurt keeps babbling over him. "And we'd have this whole last month of school and all summer to see if we actually worked first and, okay, I never thought I’d say this, but I really think that we—"

 

Dave kisses him just to be able to answer. "Yes," he says when he pulls back, absurdly pleased to discover that Kurt closed his eyes. "I would love to be your boyfriend."

 

Kurt's eyes snap open. "Really?" he says. "Because I should tell you now, my dad wants to threaten you with a tire iron."

 

Dave would laugh, but having met Burt Hummel he's fairly certain that Kurt's serious. "Even then," he replies.

 

"And I'm going to warn you now," Kurt continues, "we're taking things slow. I know I might have given you the wrong impression at first but I am totally a flowers and romance kind of guy."

 

"I wouldn't expect any differently of you," Dave says honestly and laces their hands together just to prove his point.

 

Kurt looks down at their linked hands and pauses. "You really should stop calling yourself the Fury, you know."

 

Dave shrugs. "Kind of used to it at this point," he says. "Besides, it's easier to shout at games than Karofsky."

 

"I can think of other places it'd be easier to shout," replies Kurt immediately before burying his face in Dave's chest, shoulders shaking in mortified laughter.

 

Dave pats him on the back. "Yeah, we're both going to pretend you never said that," he says dryly. He tips his head toward the exit. "You want to make out under the bleachers?"

 

Kurt tilts his head up at him and smiles. "I thought you'd never ask."

 

 


End file.
